Supernatural Visions
by Sionna Dehr
Summary: Brianna Davis thought that she managed to escape the supernatural and live among humans as a semi-normal person. Unfortunately, with her track record, luck was not on her side. Sam/OC friendship and Dean/OC friendship.
1. Chapter 1

Supernatural Visions

Chapter 1

The Reluctant Huntress

**Author's Note: Well, after pulling my hair out because my hard drive died in my last computer and forced me to lose everything I previously worked on in this Supernatural-verse, I finally managed to finish the first chapter of this story. Chapters two and three are already started and I plan on writing the beginnings of chapters four, five, six, and seven. This will be the first in an eight story series and I'm really excited about this.**

**WARNING: This is very AU! I merged my own canon from my original fiction with Supernatural, so various things have been changed. Not so much in this story, but the further I go, the more I change. I plan on following the series up to the middle of season six. After that, I might keep a few key points, but will mostly go off of my imagination. This is what I imagine would happen if I introduced an Original Character (Brianna really isn't a fan character) into the series. So, read at your own risk. **

**No romance per say, this is mostly a friendship fic between Sam, Dean and my OC. **

* * *

Sleep is the most important thing for anyone who wanted to stay in their right mind. It didn't matter if someone had, let's say, three hours of sleep a night because it was all they needed that time of rest was vitally important.

Me? I only _need _maybe three hours of sleep every two or three days, but I manage to squeeze in six hours a night. Strange to hear, no? Someone who could easily be considered an insomniac can, actually, fall asleep in a humanly normal, consistent schedule. I had about five years of practice now. Five blissfully normal years, well, as normal as someone like myself can ever get.

Now, you're probably wondering at my choice of the word _humanly_ to describe my routine sleep cycle, right? Well, I'm not human... At all. There was never a time in my life where I once was human then turned into something else (usually something dark), I was never experimented on as a child, and I've never made shady deals with demon (lying bastards that they are). No, I'm one of the good guys (not one of the rogue Fae claiming to be a god or goddess). I'm an elf. Yes, you heard that right, elf. As in the Tolkien elves (sort of) who are supposed to be tall, thin, and beautiful beyond the lot if mortals. I have certain super human strengths and weaknesses that are unique to my race. I have elemental powers and can control all five of them (there's a reason for that I'm not too thrilled with). I can see in the dark. I have excellent hearing. I... I can conceal myself from mortal eyes and walk among them appearing human.

Part of that desperate grasp for humanity was my need to keep a normal sleep schedule. Which was interrupted again for the third time that month and the only time it would happen that week.

Something opened my window. It wanted my attention, you see.

Bleary from my rest where I had been enjoying a dreamless night of sleep, I pulled back the green covers of my bed spread, each layer a different shade, and padded across the hardwood floor to my opened window. I can't describe it as a mysterious occurrence. I knew how the widow opened.

I looked out into the night, the sounds of Dallas, twelve AM traffic reaching my ears. My eyes, a strange color of teal and the only thing about my elvish heritage that bled through the disguise, searched the silver illuminated ground below me. I lived on the third floor of a five-story apartment complex off University. There was no conceivable way for anything to force my window open, well, anything that was evil or human at least.

These guys were impossible. There wasn't some sort of runic protection against them. They were just wolves; intelligent wolves peering at me from the moonlit landscape with their imploring golden eyes. Most wolves had yellow eyes. These guys were apparently too cool for creepy yellow and went for the gold.

I grabbed the top of my window, about to slam it shut again. This had to stop. They had been getting persistent lately.

"Go away!" I hissed from my room, "I don't do that stuff anymore!"

I tugged, hard, and my window descended to the ledge with an audible bang. I winced at the loud sound. I hadn't meant to be loud.

They still watched me when I glanced outside again. I sighed, shook my head, and closed the curtains (I didn't like blinds).

With a weariness that could only come from being subjected to visits from unwanted nocturnal animals, I trudged back to the comfort of my bed and heaved myself back underneath the covers. Another thing tended to come after the wolves' visits and I had long resigned myself to the strange occurrence ever since it began.

I closed my eyes and went through my mental exorcizes that lulled my brain back to the wondrous world that was sleep. This time, though, I didn't have a dream. I had a vision. Or, something strange that I could barely wrap my brain around.

I felt like I had woken up as I sat up in the usual room I appeared in after the wolf event. It was almost like some weird ritual I didn't understand.

My human guise was gone, it always was in the dream, and revealed my pointed ears, "exotic" beauty and glowing skin and hair. Against the white walls, white furniture, and white atmosphere of the room, my pale skin washed out more than it would in a normal, every day, room. Thankfully my hair was dark enough to help me stand out and my eyes were another thing that didn't blend in. I took that as a good thing.

I looked down and frowned. White dress too. Always white and I never understood why. Was this dream taking place in my mind? I pondered that thought at the start of every encounter.

"You're here," came the deep bass sound of a male voice on the other side of the small white room.

I figured the room was a sort if parlor, but I wasn't quite sure. Maybe it was a reflection of a memory I had as a kid? Who knew?

In front of me though, was a seemingly human man. I say seemingly human, because as far as I know, he seemed to be able to enter my mind from a great distance. I had long ago come to the conclusion that he was, probably, a wizard. Wizards and witches were a sub-race of beings that stemmed from human and elven cross breeding. It was impossible for him to be anything else. Evil forces couldn't enter my mind, not easily. I'd made sure of that long ago.

He was dressed in a white flannel shirt that buttoned up the middle (of course) and a pair of white jeans. The jeans had floored me the first time i had met him. All my life and I had never really seen white jeans. Well, I hadn't noticed them, at least.

I smiled at him and met his sapphire blue eyes while attempting to center myself. It was a normal reaction I had to him. There aren't many humans I would ever admit to myself as breathtakingly handsome.

He returned my expression, though his half-hearted grin didn't meet my eyes, and I cocked my head to the side in confusion.

"I've been trying to see if I could contact you on my own, but I can't seem to control it," he said.

I frowned. I knew that rhetoric. It normally preluded a spot of me, Brianna, playing therapist. Granted, he'd heard my share of complaints, so I couldn't really say anything.

"I found someone like me. Demon killed his mom in a fire and everything. He was young, though, still in high school. He killed his father and uncle then attempted to kill his step mother," my unnamed companion informed me.

No, I didn't know his name, though I knew that I could find him in real life if I wanted to. I didn't, though because I refused to step back into that sort of life again. I'd been free for five years and I wasn't going to ruin my life because I had some connection with a ridiculously handsome human I met in a dream. Oye!

"Why? What was the motive?" I asked because it was an important question.

"Abusive father and uncle with an apathetic step mother carrying a guilty conscious," he replied.

I whistled and moved to sit down on the stark white couch which was surprisingly cushiony despite the fact that it kind of resembled the consistency of a pearl.

"Poor kid, what happened?" I asked.

He followed me looking absolutely devastated. Judging from that look I had a sneaking suspicion that he had grown very close to this kid and the case and that it affected him more than he probably wanted it to.

"He killed himself," he said.

I placed my left hand on his shoulder that faced me.

"Must be hard, feeling like you failed him," I said while getting straight to the point.

It didn't take a genius to figure out how he was feeling.

"Well, I did," he said dejectedly.

"The problem with life," I began while my body leaned back against the rise of the couch, "is that it's filled with people we can't help or can help. This boy was probably seven seconds away from killing himself the entire time and the smallest trigger could set him off. Personally, I would have let him have his revenge. It sounded justified to me, no matter how wrong murder is."

"In cold blood?" He asked shocked.

I shrugged, "He wouldn't be the first. I work with law enforcement sometimes. This scenario is something I've personally seen and, well, the officers go through the same thing you do. I've distanced myself from it by now... Been doing it for too long."

He looked like he was contemplating something so I watched him, watched the slight downward curve of his lips and the small arch to his brow. His eyes seemed to stare at nothing, so I had a feeling that he was reliving some sort of memory. To us, it was a few minutes before he spoke again.

"My brother always says that we shouldn't get attached to people because of what we do, but... I can't help it. I like people, always have, and when I found out that there could be others like me, well, I was happy. But now I don't know if I'll go crazy or not," he said.

I laughed, "Firstly, crazy can be fun, especially if you own it. Secondly, I doubt your powers are going to turn you evil. That's not how innate magic works no matter how you swing it. You don't have demon magic, well, not enough to over power my defenses."

"You still think I'm a wizard, or something don't you?" He asked.

"The signs are there," I insisted.

The room flickered as did his form and we shared a sad smile. I'll be the first to admit that I've grown fond of my mortal dream partner.

"Have a good day," he said.

"You too," I replied.

With that the dream ended and everything went dark. Awake, I opened my eyes and let out a wide yawn. Well, these dreams were never bad, at least. I didn't normally have bad dreams, not any more, but that didn't mean I never have them every once in a while. As odd as these dreams with this mystery man who told me so much about himself, I enjoyed having someone to talk to just to talk. Granted, the preceding parade of reminders of my former life were something I could do without.

I twisted in my bed thinking about falling back to sleep when my phone vibrated on the side table next to my side of the bed. I groaned, already guessing who it was, and picked the thing up it glance at the text.

**"New case Davis. It's an odd one for ya. You should like it." - Gibbs-**

I let out an annoyed breath. A consultants' job was never done. Not in the big city of Dallas, Texas. My eyes rested on the time. Six-thirty. With a shrug, I moved my covers and slid out of bed with a finality in my movements that said I wasn't coming back for the rest of the day.

* * *

When it came to clothes I had three different places where I put three different clothes types for all occasion plus a fourth area where I hid nice pretty dresses for formal events be they work related or not. I know the system sounds neat and organized, I can assure you that it is for me, but most people would call my closet an organized mess. Needless to say that I did not do natural clean very well.

Anyway, I tended to wear a pair of nice jeans and a plaid shirt. I also tended towards sneakers for footwear. I've had to run after (or from) perps before and sneakers were the best sort of footwear to run in. By six-forty-five I was rushing into my car with the text Gibbs sent me that told me wear the address was. I logged it into my GPS system and then took off into the waxing dawn.

Dallas traffic was interesting, but having lived in other areas of the world where traffic laws were virtually non-existent, I preferred the complex road system and the slow driving to dealing with several hundred obviously drugged individuals probably suffering from some sort of hangover or withdrawal. At least the roads were labeled.

I arrived at the scene of the crime with a frown on my face. Nice neighborhood. Like really nice. Like the kind I technically could afford, but didn't dare dip into those funds to retrieve the money.

The house I was staring at was the generic large house that looked like it had a big first and second story plus a walk in attic. It was a nice house, just not a very interesting one.

Detective Vincenzo was in his element torturing the newbie Detective Lazaro. They were taking pictures of the door that seemed to have been broken from the inside out. My eyes narrowed in on that bit. Strange. Why would a door break out instead of in?

I got out of my car and was about to approach my teammates when two men sidled passed me dressed in sharp looking suits. I blinked and then wanted to stab something. The bloody Feds! What the hell were they doing here?

I silently followed them as they approached Vincenzo and Lazaro. Both detectives looked up, saw the Feds and caught my eye. I shook my head. Let them pretend I wasn't there for a moment.

"Hello, we're agents Shield and Darnell," began the short one as they flashed IDs but I noticed that they didn't show any badges.

"We're here to investigate the Laten murder," the short one with the blond hair continued.

"Uh, why?" Vincenzo asked impertinently.

I smiled and winked at him. Giving the Feds hell was always a lot of fun, especially if they weren't Feds.

"Because there were five other murders in the exact same style here in the neighborhood in the past week. We're making sure that there's nothing out of the ordinary going on," I think the short one was named Agent Shield?

"It's a precautionary measure, you understand. Practically routine. You won't even notice us," said the tall one.

I blinked. Why did his voice sound familiar?

"You lot said that last time and we still noticed you," I piped in dryly.

The sight of two grown not-so Federal Agents jumping a foot into the air was probably the satisfying high light of my day. They were not as ninja-like as they liked to think they were. Both men whirled around to face me and the smirk I was about to plaster onto my face froze. Because, here's the thing about dream boys, they're only supposed to stay dreams whether they were real or not. The tall agent with shaggy brown hair was the man who visited my dreams (and yes I know that sounds as cheesy as hell) and, frankly, that scared the shit out of me.

I mentally forced myself to recover from the shock of seeing him and plastered the smirk on my face anyway. I crossed my arms.

"No, really, you Feds are so covert that you're overt. It's actually painful to watch," I said.

The tall one was staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I knew that look. He probably noticed the similarities between myself and my elven appearance and was trying to figure out if I was the same person or not.

Well, I was not going to do this now, if ever. I didn't do this elf style stuff anymore. I prefer the mundane life of mortals, thanks. Less stressful.

"You know, most Feds show their badges and not their picture IDs," I pointed out.

The shorter one rolled his eyes, totally unprofessional, and lifted up his jacket. The tall one followed suit. Oh. Well. They did have badges.

I also was still quite certain that they weren't Federal Agents.

"Well," Vincenzo started, "I'll go let Gibbs know you're here. Bri, come on back if you want."

The shorter one held up his hand when I started to walk around him. I gave him one of my faux sweet smiles.

"Why is a civilian entering a dangerous crime scene?" Blond boy asked.

"Because this civilian is a) our primary consultant for odd cases, and b) because she's a tiny spitfire that has been known to break bones and rupture vital organs," Vincenzo replied pointedly.

I smirked, "That was code for move it or lose it."

Agent Blondie's bottom lip pushed out and up into a small frown while he bobbed his head in a nod, telling all of us that he believed us. He lowered his arm and stepped away from me, holding up both hands in defeat.

I walked passed him and into the building while Gibbs moved for the door. I smiled at her.

Detective Rachel Gibbs had worked homicide for two decades. Her persona was as tall as she was, making her seem like she was larger than life. She had brown speckled gray hair and honey tanned skin (natural). Her eyes were green and excelled at making people feel uncomfortable. I almost burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter at the thought of watching her make two Federal Agents nervous, but I bit back the urge. I had a crime scene to observe.

I walked down the hall to the back of the house where the second den was (yes there were two living rooms inside that house) passing the familiar faces of the other officers along the way. I nodded and smiled a greeting while letting a few of them know that the Feds were here. I was met with a barrage of groans, eye rolls, and amused glances. All of them remembered what happened the last time the precinct had to work with the Feds.

It wasn't until I had made it to the crime scene that my good mood plummeted. There was the dead man on the floor surrounded by a puddle of blood and pink goo still leaking out of his ears. His eyes were also gouged out and the empty sockets stared straight into the ceiling fan where the lightbulb had shattered. I stepped over a few glass shards so as to not damage potential evidence.

My mouth fell and a burst of anger welled inside my stomach. I DID not do this stuff anymore!

Deciding to at least take a look at the body, but not believing there was any hope for me at this point, I knelt down beside the medical examiner.

"So, what do you see right now?" I asked.

"Cause of death is unclear, but I don't think it was the eyes. There's a strange substance leaking out of his ears, but I haven't idem tied it yet. The only other thing I can say about him is the weird twisted smile he's got, but I doubt that means anything," Doctor Alynn McCreenie told me.

I frowned, "No, believe me, I think I already know what happened and I need to talk to Gibbs."

Before she could ask me why, the Feds walked into the room followed by Detective Gibbs. I took out my phone, opened the texting app and started typing. A moment later, after I hit send, Gibbs' phone buzzed.

I had written one word, **Goblin**.

Her lips pursed and she glanced at the Feds then back at me. I shrugged letting her know that I would deal with them later.

"What the hell is that pink fluid stuff?" Blondie asked.

Brains, I though but neglected to speak up and tell them.

Dream man knelt down and took out a small vial with a Q-tip attached to the lid and scooped up a sample. Thankfully I didn't need to do that. I'd seen this scenario before. The wonders of being an ex-OLIMPUS hunter.

"Well," began Dream Man, "We'll find out once we get this back to the lab."

I remembered when I first encountered a situation like this. I had been stationed in Cardiff, Wales following up on a string of odd murder victims. The murder victims, you see, had been committing random pranks that ranged from harmlessly entertaining to down right dangerously alarming. I hadn't even realized what the problem was until I ran the tests on the liquefied brains. That was a bit of forensics I never wanted to do again.

"Lab? Yeah, right! Lab," Blondie said momentarily stepping out of character.

I exchanged a glance with Detective Gibbs and Dr. McCreenie. I wasn't sure about our coroner, but Gibbs and I were definitely on the same page where these two were concerned. They definitely weren't Feds. Feds would never actually act like they were incompetent, not like these guys.

I watched as Gibbs lifted up her hand that held her phone and proceeded to tap a little harder than was necessary on the keys. My phone buzzed a moment later.

**Impersonating Federal Agents? **She asked.

I replied, **Probably. I'll handle them. I think I know what they're up to.**

**You better. **

With that we watched as they stepped back and nodded in Doctor McCreenie's direction with Blondie feeling the need to add a cocky smile. I rolled my eyes then caught the gaze of Dream Man. His blue orbs shined in a mix of aggravation and bemusement. Apparently, he dealt with this type of behavior frequently and had finally decided to just sit back and roll with it. I couldn't help it. I grinned then sent a wink in his direction. I'd done that several times in our dreams, not that he'd actually know. I looked different, after all.

Just as I expected he would, Dream Man ducked his head to one side, left I think, and turned an endearing shade of red. I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to hold back the laugh that welled up from my vocal chords and settled for an undignified snort. If he hadn't recognized me in my human guise I definitely knew that he would recognize my laugh. Best not the get into that subject just yet, I figured.

"We'll be going now," Dream Man said, "Thank you for your time. Come on, Agent Shield."

And he grabbed Blondie's arm and pulled him out of the crime scene. When we were sure they'd gone Gibbs, McCreenie and I shook our heads and proceeded to take care of the body and the rest of the crime scene. I didn't need to do a complete thorough search like the others. I'd already known what to look for.

"Davis am I gonna have to worry about them boys?" Detective Gibbs asked after talked to Dr. McCreenie about the time of death and the probable cause.

I laughed, "I think I know why they're here. I'll deal with them, promise."

After all, there were only two branches of hunters in the world and only one didn't have an official organization.

"And this case is your sort of case, right?" she asked.

I nodded and a frown replaced my humor-driven smile. Yes, this was my sort of case, no matter how much I didn't like it. But this was business as usual, of course. My price for remaining off the grid (because I had no doubt that my aunt knew exactly where I was) was to take care of the localized supernatural occurrences and to keep the humans as far away from the issue as possible. Kind of hard to do when one runs in to the human hunters, though.

With a sigh I turned to Gibbs and shrugged, "Unfortunately. I'll deal with this, you guys focus on trying to find a good cover for this one."

The precinct knew about the supernatural by now. They had to since I was there.

With that I took my leave and headed back to my apartment fully intending to conduct research on these human hunters. Unfortunately, this meant that I'd have to log in to OLIMPUS's database, but I needed to find this bit out. It was better to know the names of the people I was about to bar from this investigation, after all.

* * *

I decided that the first thing I needed to do was run a search through OLIMPUS's records of human hunters. There were a lot of records about the hunter families in the human world. It always ended up turning into a family business for them and they had their own distinct networks to deal with. I sifted through the individual hunter files first but didn't expect to find anything. It was when I made it most of the way through the Hunter Family files that I actually found something.

Winchester.

"Damn," I cursed.

I knew about the Winchesters. I had worked with John Winchester about seven years ago, shortly before I left OLIMPUS. He was, admittedly, good at hunting, but he wasn't good enough to where I was actually comfortable with him pursuing the supernatural dark creature (actually, I think it was a darkling we were chasing). He partially proved me right. At least he was resourceful.

It looked like I was going to be dealing with his two sons, one of whom had a glaring Fed record for murder. I frowned at that then clicked on the police report.

I sighed. Okay, so, string of serial murders seemingly committed by different people, but the Feds ended up pinning it on Dean Winchester. Since the older Winchester was actually there I suspected that there was a supernatural job involved.

Hmm, maybe I could use this to get the brothers out of my hair with this Goblin? It was worth a shot.

With my mind made up, I closed the lid to my laptop and went to go look for the Winchester brothers. I pointedly ignored the little voice in my head telling me that I finally knew the name of the man who visited me in my dreams once a week. That was a place I most definitely not willing to go.

After some deliberation, I decided to find them in the place where I had no doubt they'd be; at the crime scene, at night, looking for supernatural signs. Elves never needed to use half the equipment they did. For one, we had a special connection to the world of the supernatural that humans didn't, so we were able to sense things better than most. Another reason involved the fact that elves used technology that was far beyond what mortals could come up with. Elves who decided to go into the hunter business also went through rigorous hours of indoor study learning the signs and histories of the creatures we hunted. It was a lot of work, but still important, and sometimes I missed actually going through the system.

But that was the deal I had struck with my aunt when I told her I was going to completely shut myself out of the elven community and live with Professor Moruni as her student in archeology. I had to keep up with the few supernatural incidences in Dallas and keep the police department from getting caught up in that sort of shitstorm. If I did that, she would keep me out of the eye of the elven courts.

It was part of the reason why I did so much consultant work, but it hadn't taken Detective Gibbs very long to notice that I actually liked doing what I did. So, she had taken to tricking me into the mundane cases (at the beginning) and slowly managed to weave my life into her team's.

The house, as I approached it, looked incredibly foreboding in the dark. All of the houses on this street did. It was the way they were modeled, I decided, that gave their appearances a sinister edge to the way the half-moon shined down onto the looming buildings. I slipped up to the house I knew the Winchester brothers would be in and tried the doorknob. Unlocked.

Slowly, so as to not attract too much attention, I reached onto my purse and took out a permanent black marker. Mentally sifting through the different rhunes I had cataloged in my mind I finally came up with the one to keep the door and myself from making loud, sudden, noises. Carefully, I drew on the wood of the door and my skin- right above the doorknob and right above the fading rhune that kept me looking human.

Satisfied with my work, I opened the front door and walked right in.

The thudding of footfalls and bickering voices reached my ears and I willed myself to not roll my eyes. Really, these guys were too obvious to be Feds and it probably was a good thing I knew what they actually did. How they managed to not get caught this long was (and always will be) beyond me.

A bright yellow glow from the partially ajar backroom told me that one of them had turned a lamp on. It was another amateur move on their part, though I couldn't blame them for it. Humans weren't elves. They couldn't see in the dark like we could.

I peered through the crack and listened to them talk.

"So, you sure this stuff is… human… er… brain?" asked the voice of the brother I had deemed 'blondie' earlier that day but who was really called Dean.

I bit my tongue to keep myself from laughing. That was pretty much what I had said when I had a forensic scientist I knew test this stuff the first time I had ever come across a goblin.

"That's what the lab tests said and I had the tech rerun it just to make sure," said my Dream Man, Sam.

"Ugh! And here I thought we'd seen everything!" came the elder's sarcastic reply.

I breathed back a snort.

"What do you think this thing is? I've never heard of a demon or a ghost doing this and there's no EMF or anything like it," remarked the younger one.

"I've never seen it before. Think your dream girl might have an idea?" the older one asked.

I blinked. I hadn't expected to be brought up in the conversation. It made sense for Sam to talk about me to Dean, though. Neither of us had actually given our names to each other in our dream meetings and the only reason why I had gone looking for it now was because he decided to stick his nose in my case. I winced at that thought. The homicide detectives were beginning to rub off on me.

"Dean, you know I can't actually contact her at will, don't you?" the younger asked.

Thud! I winced at the sound. They were moving things around and ruining the crime scene! Not that it made much of a difference. Gibbs was already working with my aunt to get this covered up and make up a murderer, but still! There were a few things that should never happen in the history of law and tampering with potential evidence was one of them!

"Yeah I know, but she's this elf-thing, right? You'd think she'd know something about these guys!" Dean Winchester insisted.

"She might, and she's a female elf, looks humanoid and everything. Personally, I think you'd like her," Sam Winchester muttered that last bit.

"What was that?"

"You heard me!"

"Bitch!"

"Jerk!"

"Real mature Sammy!"

"Huh, you'd know, wouldn't you?" came Sam Winchester's retort.

I pulled a face. They were worse than Vincenzo and Lazaro on a good day!

A smirk spread its way across my face. There was one way to shut them up and I'd have a lot of fun doing it, too. I knocked on the partially open door.

Silence.

"Dude, you sure you didn't pick up any readings?" Sam Winchester asked.

"Positive," replied a confused and wary Dean.

"Then what the hell was that?"

"Damned if I know!"

This time I really did roll my eyes. They needed to host a talk show. Or write parody fiction. Either one would make them millions.

"Dean and Sam Winchester, open the door! I know you're in there!" I called.

Silence again. I was trying not to burst out laughing.

Finally, it was Sam who apparently had the courage to open the door and meet my gaze. I didn't know if he could see my eyes very well, but I could see his and they were as breathtaking as they were this morning. It was weird, seeing him outside of my head dressed in normal clothes.

He blinked, "You're that consultant from earlier."

I smiled.

"Wait, you mean that chick one of the detectives was bragging about?" Dean Winchester asked from behind his brother.

"Yeah and I managed to sneak up on you two twice. I'd suggest working on your stealth skills if you actually want to continue your little hunting career," I said.

I couldn't see Dean's face, but Sam was openly gaping at me. I didn't blame him. Not everyone knew that the supernatural existed let alone human hunters. To think that even human hunters didn't know elves existed. Should be interesting.

"You know," Sam finally said in a breathy tone that told me he had been holding his breath without even realizing it.

I nodded, "I know a lot more than you boys ever will. Including things concerning this case. Gibbs is having me take care of it, so I suggest you two leave and hunt a good ghost, or something that won't liquefy your brains if it manages to possess you."

Dean, surprisingly, managed to find his voice first.

"Hold on, you expect us to let you handle this on your own?" he asked.

I gave the appearance of thinking a moment before replying, "Yeah, pretty much."

"But we don't know what this thing is," Sam pointed out.

"I actually do know what it is," I said pointedly, "and I happen to be a professional where hunting dangerous creatures are concerned. You guys grasp at straws half the time, then proceed to bumble on crime scenes and disturbing them. This is something beyond you, trust me, and it'll take special measures to fix."

Sam looked offended. It was actually kind of cute. Well, it was absolutely adorable, as much as I hated to admit it.

"Yeah isn't that the point of us?" Dean asked me.

I shrugged, "Not in this circumstance. Trust me, you guys are in danger around this thing. Better to let me handle it."

"And why would we do that?" Dean Winchester asked in an extremely condescending tone.

I didn't blame them for asking. They didn't know what I was and they didn't know what I could do. For all they knew, I was a hunter that worked with the police and had access to things that they didn't. My status amongst the law enforcement wouldn't make me any more qualified to take this thing out than they were.

"I have special powers and abilities that you two lack," I replied after a moment's hesitation.

Telling them I wasn't human probably wouldn't go over very well no matter how well acquainted Sam Winchester was with my actual elven appearance. It was better to just make them believe that this was something only I could do based on a special innate power I was born with.

Come to think of it, Sam, at least, could probably access that same power. After all, he wouldn't be able to access my dreams if he didn't have any elven blood in his lineage. Which probably meant that Dean Winchester was likely to be a wizard as well.

Had I still been a huntress, I would have pursued this thesis. Since I wasn't, I refrained from getting too involved. It was part of the reason why I wanted them out of my hair so badly.

"That's bullshit," Dean deadpanned.

I smiled, "I can also get the Feds to drop your murder charges and have your files classified."

My aunt normally did this for most human hunters without inducting them into the system. Sometimes she did this without them even knowing the moment she got wind of it. Dean's Federal record was fairly new and, while I knew she probably already knew about his record, she probably hadn't the time to deal with it. There were other things that I knew she was worried about like keeping the elven Council of Nobles off my and other members of my family's backs. Sad, isn't it?

Anyway, with me being an ex OLIMPUS hunter I had authority to order the Feds to drop the price on Dean's head. All that would take was a call to the Secretary of Defense.

I could see the hopeful look in Sam's eyes and knew he was about to ask if it was actually possible when Dean voiced his opinion.

"I don't believe you. The government doesn't know a thing about us or what we do," he said.

I smirked, "You'd be surprised. Trust me, it's better that I don't let you two get involved. Now shoo! Or I'll make you."

Sam was staring at me again. His expression was unreadable, but I knew he was still trying to figure out where he had seen me before. I hadn't changed too much of my elven appearance and knew that I looked familiar to him.

Kind of sad that, even then, I could read him easily.

I wasn't sure if he reached a decision or not, but Sam Winchester suddenly grabbed his brother's arm. Dean looked over at him about to say something, but caught the expression that I hadn't seen before. My eyes narrowed. I might not have known the expression, but it was obvious that something was up.

"If it makes you happy," Sam said, "we'll go."

"Right," Dean added, "Yeah, okay, just get my record clean and we'll be fine."

Sam stepped past me first, being the closest brother near the door. Our eyes met one last time before he dragged Dean out and something seemed to flicker in those green depths. Before I could properly gauge, he looked away from me and the two left the room. I waited silently while listening to their loud footsteps treading down the hall and to the front door. When the door slammed shut I sagged against the doorframe of the room and let out a relieved breath. Thank the Lord that hadn't escalated to what I hoped it wouldn't!

I was about to turn to leaven when my eyes caught the gleaming golden orbs of two white wolves hovering in the distance. My teeth grazed my bottom lip and my entire body froze, like it didn't quite know what to do with itself.

My eyes blinked several times, hoping that the wolves would leave me alone, but it was for naught. They remained to silently watch me in an almost mocking fashion. The moon shown on their gleaming coats, making them appear ethereal and otherworldly. Just like their mistress; just like me.

Angry, tired, and wanting to run as far away as a possibly could, I whirled around on my heels and stomped out of the house.

Sam and Dean were already gone by the time I left.

* * *

The next day I was caught up in the case, trying to figure out where the Goblin was hiding next. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it already had its next victim. All that I had to do was search out a potential troublemaker and fry the thing inside its host. By this point in time, the host body would be dead, I knew that much, just to make way for the being of the Goblin. It was a horrible way to die, but it happened because Goblins weren't a ghost or a demon, they had bodies and those bodies liked to inhabit other bodies; like a parasite.

This, of course, made them one thousand times harder to kill.

It took looking into the house's security footage and realizing that the Goblin most likely possessed a friend confronting the person the Goblin took over when the body began to show signs of decay. I finally found out who the next host was after hours upon hours of watching boring house footage and then set out to plan the perfect way to kill it. I couldn't kill the Goblin in the host. While the host might already have been dead the Goblin would just vacate the body the moment I stabbed it. No, I was going to need something else, a way to trap it and dispose of it without too much hassle.

My apartment was the next destination. I had acquired many different materials and books over my century long existence (yes you read that right) and I made certain that the general content of each book was memorized. That way I could remember where something was when I needed to look something up. Elves had bored days too, sometimes bored months. It was amazing how much one could get done when they had absolutely nothing to do.

I took down a book titled _The Encyclopedia of Grade B Demons, Creatures, and Monsters _by Professor Laurel Moruni, my mentor. I checked the last date the book updated itself and nodded. Good, it was the latest it could possibly be!

You might be wondering about the book updating itself. Well, elves tend to mix magic and technology for things ranging from mundane appliances to important things like information books and weapons. The books, once added to by the original author, updated themselves to include the latest bit of information. This happens as often as the author makes the update. Sometimes, if there are several authors, there are several updates a year. Professor Moruni updates her books once a year on December 20th and leaves the rest of the world with the most thoroughly researched bit of current information that we could possibly get our hands on. In recent years, the elder elf (oh yeah, she's old… older than dirt… literally) had a lot of time on her hands for research and made the most of it by focusing on at least fifty research topics a month.

I wasn't kidding when I said elves didn't need that many hours of sleep. She, not being like me, only slept three hours every other day.

And I, along with others like me, were able to benefit from her knowledge.

There was a huge section about Goblins in the middle of the book. I read through it and ticking off the bits and pieces of information I already knew and compared it to some of the new entrees. Goblins were a migratory race. They were also a bit partial to people with pale skin. I'm not talking about people who are Caucasian, I actually mean people who are abnormally pale no matter their ethnic background. From what I read of the similar case files that were related to the one I was working, the last few victims ranged from Asian to albino African American.

The best way to kill a Goblin was to throw vinegar on it's original form. I thought back to all of the empty cans of pepper spray bottles I had in the back of my kitchen cabinets. They could work.

* * *

I was on fire that night, sneaking into the house the Goblin currently occupied with its new host. I didn't end up doing this sort of thing all the time, no matter how many supernatural attacks happened in Dallas (not as many as you'd think). The spray cans were hidden in my jacket and I carried three elven knives strapped to both of my arms and hip. I wore a jean jacket and, while it showcased the elven knife strapped to my right hip, it completely hid the two on my left and right arms. If I had still been a huntress, I wouldn't be wearing jeans, a tank top, and a jean jacket. No, I would have worn the uniform assigned to high-level hunters. Yeah, I was, still am, that good.

The two-bedroom cottage house was quiet and dark save for the glowing light in one of what I assumed to be a bedroom. I proceeded with caution round the side of the house to the back fence to open the gate latch. Immediately I was hit with the smell of decaying meat and days old blood and I held back a violent cough. One of the things I didn't like about being an elf was the sad fact that I could smell the rotting decay of flesh far easier than I really wanted to. I found the source of the smell a little ways into the backyard. A dog. Dead dog.

My chest constricted and I had to will myself to focus on the assignment at hand and not dwell on the fact that a dead Golden Retriever lay on the ground in a bloody, mangled, mess. I liked animals a lot, even if I ate them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Canine anything tended to be my favorite type and seeing a dead one at that moment was heart breaking for me.

However, this did fill me with righteous anger all directed towards my quarry. Kill innocent dogs? Son of a bitch was going down!

Thankfully I was met with French doors instead of sliding glass ones. It made breaking into them a lot easier and less noisy. I knelt down and placed my hand on the lock, getting the feel of the grooves and nitches that made up the inside of the keyhole. When that was done I placed my hand on the cement padio and concentrated. When I was done I had a makeshift key ready-made for me to unlock the door.

To my immense satisfaction, I was in.

I was short for an elf. My father was what my people categorized as an Eduna, or forest elf. My mother had been a Rhune, or light elf. The Eduna were shorter than most other elves, skin pale but not stark white, and tended to look more - how should I put this? – not like stick figures? That sounded right. Due to this, we tended to be lighter on our feet and better at stealth. I had the, I guess advantage would be the right word, of being part Rhune, so my body was annoyingly thin too. Even when I looked like an elf I always hated it. It made skulking on rooftops a challenge, but I could swim and run rather well. My cousin had always been jealous.

Being small and thin had its perks, though, especially when I was trying to remain inconspicuous. It made moving through a small, dark, house ten times easier.

Or so I thought at the time until I was hit on the back of the head from behind.

I face planted into the hallway, jarred for a moment and slightly breathless from the fall. A hand grabbed by braided hair and pulled me off the ground.

"I was wondering when they'd send one of you after me. Unfortunately for you, a witch can't do much against a Goblin," breathed a cracked voice obviously in the process of decaying.

I winced as the Goblin dragged me into a sitting position by my long braid. Well, guess the element of surprise was futile, but that didn't mean all was lost. I stared straight ahead and fought the impulse to turn around and look at it. Apparently the Goblin needed a new host and the thing thought I was mostly human. Hilarious, and it would work in my favor.

Then the front door flew open.

"Hey, douchebag!"

There was a gunshot and the thing let go of my hair while I was showered in… salt? Oh good grief salt didn't kill Goblins!

I turned around to face the door and saw the Winchester brothers enter the house, shotguns raised and pointed at the Goblin. It was one of those moments where I fervently wished that it wasn't illegal to murder someone. Morons!

"What the hell are you two doing here?" I asked angrily.

"Saving your ass apparently, the thing looked like it was about to stab you in the neck," Dean Winchester said.

Oh, well, I definitely hadn't known that.

The Goblin snarled and started towards the Winchester brothers. I took out the knife at my hip and stabbed the thing in the side. It screamed and backhanded me across my face. I was dazed, again, for a second, but I was aware enough to hear Sam get thrown across the room.

"Sam!" Dean yelled before the Goblin went after him.

I stood up, managed to get my bearings, and lunged for the Goblin punching Dean on the floor. The knife that was still in my hand was raised and I plunged the blade into the back of its head. The creature ripped itself out of the walking corpse and reshaped into a shriveled, demented, old man.

It turned to me with a snarl that morphed into absolute terror, but I didn't register the expression. All I knew was that something terrified it enough to distract it. I took out a spray can of vinegar I prepared earlier and unleashed the mix into the Goblin's face. It screamed, broke out into boils as the vinegar dribbled down its skin, and then exploded.

I grimaced while wiping some of the slime off my shirt. Just as disgusting as I remembered.

I glanced down at Dean and moved to help him up when he backed away from me and scooted against the wall.

"What the hell are you?" he asked, his voice shaky.

I looked down and frowned. My skin was glowing slightly. Well damn! Damn, damn, damn! I forgot to reapply the rhune that kept me looking human!

"Dean, its okay, I know her," Sam grunted from behind me.

Dean's alarmed blue eyes shifted from myself to his brother. I looked behind me and noticed Sam was struggling to get up and sported that kicked puppy look I knew him best for.

I closed my eyes. Apparently, no matter how much one tries to avoid something, if its supposed to happen, it will. Me and Sam meeting in our dreams once a week whether we wanted to or not? Gonna happen. Sam and I finally meeting face to face no matter how much I didn't want to? Fate's a bitch. Literally and figuratively.

My eyes opened again and met Dean's who now had his gun back in his hands and was pointing it at me. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. I stared up the barrel at him, frowning.

"What do you want with my brother?" he more demanded than asked.

"Nothing, he's the one who gets into my head, not me," I informed him.

Dean glanced over me at Sam.

"It's true," Sam said.

He glanced back at me, "Why didn't you tell us who you were?"

I sent him a look, "Why do you think?"

"What are you?" he asked, clearly not perturbed by my irritation.

"I'm an elf," I said, "You know, Lord of the Rings, Tolkien? Those kinds, except I can actually use magic."

"Bullshit, elves don't exist," Dean said.

At least he had conviction.

"You're staring at one right now. Sam told you what I was, didn't he?" I asked.

Dean glanced back at Sam for a moment before returning his gaze to mine.

"Didn't believe it," he spat.

"Dean, put the gun down, she's not gonna hurt us. She hunts the same things we do," Sam reasoned.

"How do we know it's not a front, Sam? For all we know, she could be working with the same people dad's after!" Dean said.

"She's not, Dean, just put the gun down and let's talk about this."

Dean was on edge, body ridged to the point where he was practically shaking. I remained calm, took a deep breath, and decided to play the one card I knew would at least get his attention.

"I worked with your dad once. His name is John Winchester. It was six years ago, before I left OLIMPUS, that's the hunters organization my people, the elves, set up after World War II," I smirked here, "my aunt's the head and came up with the idea after attending the first Directors meeting in the US executive cabinet."

"You're not in our dad's journal," Dean pointed out.

"I told him not to write about me. OLIMPUS hunters like to remain a secret from humans, even you lot. We try to help you out as best we can, but right now they're stretched pretty thin. The world is our jurisdiction, you see," I said.

"And you're not part of them anymore?" Dean asked.

"Not formally, no."

He finally lowered his gun, but still didn't relax, "Six years ago… Sammy weren't we in Alaska six years ago? Anchorage?"

"Yeah," Sam said and I could hear the faint tremors of betrayal in his voice.

Dean began pacing the room and I moved to lean against the wall. That blow to the back of my head was starting to throb and I felt dizzy. I met Sam's gaze and abruptly looked away. No, he definitely wasn't happy with me.

Finally, the older Winchester seemed to come to some sort of conclusion when he came to a stop and let out a long, drawn out, sigh. With a shake of his head, he turned back to me.

"I take it that, since my dad hasn't killed you, he trusts you?"

I nodded, remaining silent. Dean sighed again and turned to his brother.

"We're taking her with us," he said.

I blinked, shocked and very much outraged, and Sam's expression mirrored my feelings.

"What?" he asked.

Dean crossed his arms, "You wanna find dad, Sam? She's it. If she is what she says she is and has an organization at her back, she might be able to find him and convince him to let us help. Besides, I don't trust her and I want to keep an eye on her. So she's coming with us, got it?"

I wanted to argue, I wanted to yell at them, I wanted to tell Sam to just leave Dallas and not involve me in something I obviously didn't want. But, I knew that one wrong word, one sign of hostility, would set them both off against me, so I remained silent.

Sam glanced at me and our eyes met again. His lips pursed. Well, he was definitely not happy with me, but I knew where his opinion would turn.

"Okay, I want to find dad, so… yeah. We'll take her," he said and I knew that wasn't the only reason why he wanted me along.

Sam Winchester had questions and he wanted answers. Taking me along would give him access to those answers, some of which I didn't have.

"Alright," I agreed knowing that if they did decide to kill me I would have to fight back and I really didn't want that, "give me three days. I don't want to just disappear of the face of the earth. I have obligations I need to meet. Please," I added that last part because Dean Winchester looked like he was about to protest.

Dean still looked like he was about to tell me to fuck off, but Sam, as angry with me as he was, seemed to be more understanding.

"Let her, Dean. We don't need to add to your record," he said.

"Which I actually can get cleared," I pointed out.

That seemed to perk the older one up a bit, but he still shook his head. Obviously he didn't trust that I could actually do it. I let him believe it, for the moment, but I was convinced that I could eventually wear him down.

"Okay, three days, but we get to stay with you. It'll be cheaper for us and Sammy here won't feel so bad about credit card fraud," Dean said in a faux cheery voice.

It meant I was on thin ice and that I had better prove to him that I was trustworthy. I knew, from the way Sam wasn't looking at me, that the younger Winchester trusted me to not go on a killing spree. That didn't mean he was happy with me, though, and I knew that I was going to have to face his ire the next day.

I followed them out of the house after leaving a text to Gibbs about the Goblin and the body. Silently, I bid farewell to the smidge of normalcy I had managed to cling to for five years.

* * *

"Sam and Dean Winchester? Are ya sure?" Detective Rachel Gibbs asked when I finished explaining everything to her.

I nodded and clasped my hands behind my back. Everyone knew who these two were, unfortunately.

"Dean Winchester was framed by a shapeshifter in St. Louis," I explained.

She nodded, "No, I believe you, Davis. I'm just surprised that they don't seem to trust you if their daddy knew ya."

"I think Sam knows I'm not evil, but Dean still thinks I'm a sort of witch," I said with a smile.

Gibbs smirked, "If that boy don't like witches, then don't take 'im to OLIMPUS."

I laughed, "I won't."

There was a pregnant pause shared between us. Neither knew what to say. I did know, from the way Detective Gibbs shifted in her seat and stared down at her paper-ridden desk that she was looking for a way to word how she felt without sounding too sappy. I understood because I faced the same problem. Gibbs and I were a lot alike. It was why she liked me so much.

"You sure ya don't want me to vouch for ya to them kids?" she finally asked.

I nodded, "No, I'll go with them. Dean'll probably think I'm controlling you or something."

She snorted, "At least their daddy taught them how ta be cautious. Go easy on them Davis; especially the younger one. I think he likes you."

"Yeah, probably not so much. Sam Winchester was… er… Dream Guy," I said awkwardly.

Gibbs fixed me with a stare before shaking her head, "Good lord, you can't get a break can ya. Granted ya should 'a told him."

"I know."

She sighed, "Well, we're gonna miss you. I'll let the professor know what happened when she gets back from Panama. Go get ready for your road trip."

And that had been my last conversation with Detective Rachel Gibbs. I regretted it. I liked the woman. I liked the Dallas PD. I liked solving murders, normal murders, and I definitely liked catching criminals. With the Winchesters, I would still be doing it, but the danger factor would sky rocket. Besides, it was back to hunting for me, apparently, and I hadn't wanted to go back full time. Of course, I was a freelance huntress now.

My aunt, Artemis, knew. I emailed her shortly after I made the boys comfortable in the living room. She agreed that maybe the Winchesters taking me along would be a good thing and offered to erase Dean's Federal record. I told her not to since Dean hadn't given consent and we left it at that.

When I returned to my apartment, I went to the front office to tell them that I was moving out and the furniture was for the next tenant to do what they pleased. The boys were still asleep in the living room when I arrived on my floor. I went about packing everything in my suitcase, fit to hold everything from my clothes, to books, to my various assortment of weapons. I packed everything I knew I would need.

I was about to sort through my refrigerator when Sam walked into the kitchen/dining room looking slightly bedraggled. I picked up the coffee I bought for him and Dean from Starbucks and handed him one of the cups.

"Good morning, he-who-walks-in-dreams," I said brightly.

He rewarded my joke with a half-hearted laugh. I smiled sadly and sat down across from him with my own half-drunk mocha clutched in my hand. We sat together silently and I waited for him to voice what he'd been wanting to ask me since last night.

"You know, coffee won't change anything, right?" he asked.

I shrugged and waited for him to continue.

"Why didn't you tell me it was you?" he asked.

I sighed, "Because I'm trying to live a normal life among humans; as far away from the supernatural as I possibly can. You represent what I've been trying to get away from for five years."

"You still should have told me. I've been trying to contact you on my own for so long, and then when I do meet you, you just pretended that I didn't exist," he was quiet, but I could tell that he was trying not to yell.

"I didn't do what I did to hurt you, Sam, I'm sorry," I muttered after taking a sip of my coffee.

He gave a bitter laugh, "The funny thing is that I know you didn't, but it still hurt me anyway."

My eyes fluttered closed for a second before opening again and meeting Sam's gaze.

"I know," I muttered.

He sighed and looked away from me, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Any food left or have you thrown it out?" he asked.

The turn of the conversation to a safer, neutral, topic relieved me. I hadn't really wanted to delve into the whole reason behind me trying to keep my distance from them.

"I have bacon, eggs, fruit, yogurt, and three types of juice," I said, ticking off the list on my fingers.

He was silent for a moment. The way his brows slanted down slightly told me that he was weighing his options. His eyebrows lifted and his lips parted slightly when he came to a conclusion

"Do you have spinach?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I could go for an omelet, if that's okay," he said.

I stood up and padded towards the refrigerator.

"Okay, do you know what Dean would like?" I asked.

A small chuckle reached my ears and I smiled behind the refrigerator door. I managed to get something positive out of him.

"Dean likes a lot of bacon, but I think he'll go for the omelet if you put bacon in it," he suggested.

"Alright," I conceded.

We weren't okay, not by a long shot, but he seemed to tolerate me for the moment. I was fine with that.

**Like it? Hate it? DESPISE IT? Have questions? Review and let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Supernatural Visions**

**Chapter 2**

**Shadows in the Night**

**Author's Note: Sooo, I'm definitely going to be using the month of May to its fullest, because apparently this is the month when my muse strikes in waves and I can update everything. The chapter sort of tapers out at the end, mostly because I wanted to get this out of the way so I can get to all of the good stuff (and the next story where things really begin to pick up). Anyway, if you are not a fan of AU then be warned that what I took from the episode "Shadows" had been altered to fit the fact that there is, in fact, a third party character in the episode who happens to be an elf. I haven't completely diverged from the series, yet, but it'll start happening the more I write.**

* * *

I had to give it to Dean Winchester, he had amazing taste in music. I mean, if I had to be stuck in the back of a 67 Chevy Impala with two hunters, one of which still seemed to be able to enter my dreams at night, I might as well have enjoyed myself. This ranged from me teasing Sam and Dean to Dean and I singing Metallica at the tops of our lungs for the mere pleasure of annoying Sam.

It took poor Dean a few days to warm up to me, but in the end he calmed down enough to know that I wasn't about to off him and his brother. He still refused to let me call my aunt and remove him criminal record despite the multiples times I'd told him that his stubbornness would come back to bite him. I should know.

But Dean came up with a good rebuttal and I couldn't refute it without coming off as some forceful little minx. So, I laid down in the back of the car and either listened to my ipod classic or amused myself by annoying my captors. I might have come voluntary, but that didn't mean I couldn't make them pay for being mistrustful idiots.

After the first week, I managed to convince them to let me help on a hunt. They kind of needed my help anyway, that ghost was a frickin' bitch to get rid of, and apparently the fact that I could make salt spring from the ground and attack the thing endeared them to me. And the fact that, when I threw a fireball at it, the thing actually blew up might have also showed them I wasn't useless and that I was also under a strict "offense/defense" only policy where my powers were concerned. Dean still thought I was a witch and wasn't too keen on believing that I was what I said I was. Elves weren't widely known, even among hunters, and half the time hunters actually met us they thought we were witches and wizards. Some OLIMPUS hunters were, admittedly, but not the type that most hunters actually think of when they see them.

Actually, the correct idea would be Harry Potter witches and wizards… Though most of those guys used anything that they could get their hands on as a source of focus for their powers.

But, don't tell Dean Winchester this. He doesn't believe anything that's actually right in front of his face. Could be a Winchester thing, because convincing Sam that he managed to inherit the ability to use elven magic was impossible, in dreams and out of them.

Oh yeah, let's talk about Sam and how, at that moment, he was still pissed off at me. I mean he believed that I was an elf, he knew me far longer than Dean did, and admitted that I probably wasn't a threat to them. However, he was as mad as I'll get out because I omitted the fact that I recognized him back in Dallas. Not that he didn't have a reason to be, in fact I would say he was completely justified, but man… that boy could hold a frickin' grudge!

And he can sulk. It was actually kind of cute and, after Dean relaxed around me enough to admit a few Brianna truths, even he thought Sam was being a bit ridiculous. Thus, Samuel Winchester was teased by his brother for not even recognizing his "Dream Girl" right off the bat. Granted, Dean teased the both of us about that and I think he did it just to be an ass.

Asshole.

We were in Chicago for this part of the tale. Dean and I were scoping the menu of a little diner and Sam was sifting through the newspaper muttering about this and that under his breath. Well, I could hear what he was saying and most of it revolved around "Good grief".

"Hey, check this out," Sam said and pushed the newspaper under Dean and I's noses.

We sent him identical pouts before glancing down at the opened paper. Suddenly food was temporarily forgotten as we leaned over our menus to read the article and inspect the picture.

"Torn to shreds with no sign of a break in?" I asked.

"Yep! The police and the alarm company are both stumped," Sam said.

"Hmm, could be our case. Thing is, how do we get in?" Dean asked.

I smirked and leaned back in my seat, "Me, naturally!"

I took out my purse and placed the string of badges that I never threw away onto the table feeling very satisfied with myself. Sam and Dean gaped.

"You had these on you all this time and didn't bother using them?" Dean asked.

I shrugged, "Before now, the archeological research of modern culture thing worked fine. Besides, I actually do record the evidence and log it into various essays that I'm working on, so my alias is covered. This will take a little finesse, so I figured that it would be in our best interest to use these guys. OLIMPUS hunters have badges of all types of agencies from the different countries we're assigned to. I've been with CIA, FBI, and NCIS mostly, but I have also worked with ICE, the DOD, and DHS."

Sam simply shook his head and looked away from the array of badges and IDs that littered the table. Dean, on the other hand, inspected each and every one of them with an air of reverence I knew every con artist would sport when appreciating the amount of inside forging that my people did. Well, we didn't forge our IDs, but we did know all of the directors… and the president, Bush I think he was called. The second Bush I think. The son or something. I never really paid attention. My aunt was normally the one who briefed the president elects when they took office. The hunters and I normally dealt with the directors of the various agencies we worked with.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, "think you can manage to get us some of these?"

I smiled brightly and replied, "Sure! After you let me get your record cleared!"

He scowled in my direction and picked up his menu again to inspect the contents. I rolled my eyes and took a quick glance at my badges. The FBI badge should work.

I picked it and my ID up and took out my wallet, placing the ID over my driver's license. After that, I clipped the badge to my belt just before my hip, the usual place most Feds kept them.

"Word of advice to you guys, just clip your badges on your belts where they can be both easily hidden and easily shown. Gun holsters go under the jacket and attached at the back belt preferably on the side easily reached by your dominant hand. Don't show your IDs, just your badge, but keep it on anyway just in case they ask for them," I suggested feeling the need to avoid another shitstorm like the one in Dallas where we all first officially met.

Sam nodded but didn't look at me or make a reply. That both annoyed and hurt me for a reason that I didn't fully understand. I figured, at the time, that it mostly had something to do with losing that companionship we had when all we did was meet in the world of dreams. But, I accepted the fact that this distance between us had a lot to do with me deciding to ignore the fact that I knew him and not running up to him and telling him exactly who I was… or showing him… or something. This whole thing just reminded me how bad I was at emotional relationships. Casual friendships I could handle. Frienemies, like with what was going on between me and Dean, I could handle. This… whatever it was between myself and Sam was the most awkward thing in the word and I needed to figure out how to balance it.

"Right, got it, act like a Fed," Dean said, "I think I'll order apple pie."

I rolled my eyes, "No, you and Sam are going to stand there and attempt to look competent. I'll do the talking."

I glanced down at my menu and then nodded to myself before stating to the whole table, "Blueberry pie and a spot of chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup. And a mocha."

Dean whistled, "Aren't you a hungry little hippo?"

I glared at him before nudging him in the side, "Oye! I have a very fast metabolism! It needs the sustenance!"

"Sure it does!" teased Dean before turning to his brother, "What're you having Sammy?"

"The breakfast special," Sam replied curtly, "And espresso."

Dean blinked and I sent him a smirk. He then glanced at me with a curious look on his face.

"Out of curiosity, why didn't you get the breakfast special? I thought you loved bacon."

I laughed, "Yes, but I wanted to pie more."

He thought for a second before nodding. Apparently that seemed like it was an acceptable answer.

"Well, I'll just go order that for ya, right?" he looked around and was met with my silence and Sam's.

He shook his head and muttered a final "right" before heading off to the counter to order. I glanced over at Sam and noted his sulky mood. An impatient breath escaped past my lips and I placed my menu in the middle of the edge of the table. If he was being awkward like this on purpose, he was doing a damned good job of it.

"So, you went to Stanford?" I asked genuinely curious.

"Yeah, pre-law," he replied.

And cue the awkward silence.

"Where did you go? To college?" he asked.

Hmm, apparently he felt the silence and deeply as I did.

"Well, I received my bachelors degree at Yale University in Historical Studies with a preference in culture and myths about twenty years ago. I received my Masters at U. T. Dallas ten years ago and I was searching for good colleges to receive my Doctorate when you lot came along," I explained.

He sighed and from the look on his face I could tell that I obviously said something wrong. He finally looked at me and I could see just how stressed out about the entire situation he actually was.

"What is it with every conversation we have? I bring up something as neutral as where you went to college and then the fact that you're not human gets involved!" he snapped.

I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. This was really starting to get ridiculous.

"Well what exactly did you expect when someone looks you in the eye and tells you that they just so happen to be an elf. You know, like the ones Tolkien wrote about? We're as close to immortal as you can possibly get," I said.

Of course at this point I was five seconds away from slapping the boy for being an ass about this. I mean, for one, who the hell was he to fucking judge? He was the one with psychic abilities! He was the one who managed to wheedle his way into my dreams! I didn't actively seek him out! I didn't want to be brought back into this hunting life and I most certainly didn't want to interfere with his!

"Which shouldn't even be possible," he pointed out.

I let out another breath in order to attempt to keep my patience. He really was intentionally trying to piss me off now.

"Take it up with the Creator. He tends to work in mysterious ways, but I heard that He'll stop every important thing He's doing just so He can spoon feed you everything there is to know about the universe," I remarked sarcastically before going on in a serious note, "Look, Sam, half the stuff you deal with shouldn't be possible. Granted, half the stuff you kill are evil, but that's been the story of my life too. My people just happen to live for thousands upon thousands of years unless we're killed in battle, or cursed, or commit suicide. What did you think that everything I told you the first time I explained this to you was a lie?"

He had that sulky puppy look on his face now and it was getting harder for me to maintain a severe air. I mean, the guy was just too cute for his own good sometimes!

"No, I didn't, I also didn't expect to actually meet you," he muttered.

"Well, that makes two of us," I said.

"Then why? Why didn't you at least let me know it was you when you first saw me?" he asked and I could hear the note of desperation in his voice.

Finally, I decided on part of the truth. Not all of it. He didn't really need to know the whole reason, but part of it would probably work wonders on our relationship right about now.

"Because people I touch tend to die if I'm not careful. There are some nasty beings after me and I didn't want you getting involved. I was living in Dallas as an ex-hunter for a reason, Sam. I didn't do this heavy duty stuff anymore," I explained.

He sighed, this time in what looked to be defeat, and I could tell that, while he was still somewhat miffed at me, he wanted to end this argument as much as I did.

"Alright, I get it, I do, but it doesn't make you trying to run away any easier," he said.

I shot him a sympathetic look and was about to reply when Dean came skipping back over to us with our food held in two trays. I sent him a sympathetic smile. I really had ordered a lot of food.

"So, there is pie, you two seemed to have finally worked something out, and coffee is in abundance! I think all is right in the world for the moment!" Dean chirped.

"You were gone this long intentionally, weren't you?" Sam asked.

Dean grinned while setting our plates down in front of us, "The least I could do for my little brother!"

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and said, "By the grace of the Triune!"

* * *

It took two days of preparation before we could even enter the building. I chose FBI to use as our cover, so that involved me calling Erik Fulker, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation to let him in on the case, itself; explaining that I worked with OLIMPUS. When we received the green light, Sam, Dean, and I first began at the Chicago Police Department and had the detectives working on the case debrief us on the situation.

The briefing period was short, but our search through the evidence lockers and crime scene photos took a while. Sam and Dean weren't used to working with gloves and secondary information. Normally they managed to find a way into the crime scene using some outlandish story. This is why having me around offered a few perks. It always paid to have allies in the various government agencies.

Once we procured the keys to the crime scene, we finally pulled up to the victim's apartment complex on our third day in Chicago in Dean's Impala. I had been unsure about the car for a few hours, but didn't voice my concerns to the boys. It was black, but it wasn't Federally standardized and I hadn't been certain if the car was too out of character or not. In the end, people didn't comment on it, so I decided to let it go.

"This looks like the place," Sam said while getting out of the driver's side of the car.

I was organizing my flash camera and notepad, making sure that the battery worked and the pen had some ink, before I moved to open one of the car's backdoors. I nudged Dean who had slid out of his car just as I was getting out and handed him the camera.

"You'll be taking pictures," I said pointedly before walking around the car towards Sam who stood on the sidewalk straightening out his tailors black suit.

I pointedly ignored the fact that he looked rather hot in the suit and held out the notepad and pen, "You can take notes."

I headed towards the building while continuing my short lecture over my shoulder, "Follow my lead, don't talk unless you have to, and remember to take pictures of both the site of the body and the entire room. If you see anything the police might have missed don't forget to get out a pair of latex gloves and an air tight bag to put the thing in."

I rang for the landlady who the Chicago Police Department phoned earlier that day to let her know three FBI agents were heading over to the building. I had the key just in case she wasn't there.

The landlady was there to let us in.

"I wasn't aware that the FBI were involved," she said.

I nodded and replied, "There have been several unexplained murders in houses with this particular security system and we're following up with our own investigation to see if there's a connection."

"That's worrisome, think it may be some sort of serial killer?" she asked.

"We don't know yet, ma'am, but checking out this and other recent crimes scenes will let us know," I said.

She let us into the flat with Sam and Dean remaining silent behind me. That was a relief, at least. It meant they took my advice seriously. That was definitely a good sign that our working relationship was heading into the right direction.

"I have to say, if it's the alarms themselves, I think they're about as useful as boobs on a man," she remarked stoutly while Dean began to walk around the room taking pictures of the perimeter.

I smiled to myself. He might have been doing a rookie job of it, but it was a passable rookie job and one I could work with. Sam looked slightly uncomfortable by the landlady's comment and cleared his throat before asking one of the acceptable generalized questions I had pre-approved before arriving.

"The police report said that you were the one to find the body, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

"And that was a few days after the time of death?"

"Her work called and said she hadn't shown up, so I came up here to see if she were sick and noticed the smell right away."

I nodded at that while Sam dutifully wrote down the conversation. There was still a bit of residual odor that alerted me to the fact the deceased's body had been there for at least three days. Long enough to acquire a reeking stench; especially if it was in pieces like the photos of the body had shown.

Speaking of the body, Dean had moved to the beginnings of the death scene, snapping pictures of the blood spatters on the floor. I bent to inspect them. There was the pool of blood where the torso had been left to bleed out, a few fragments of hairy blood on one end of the room, and more splatters.

I blinked. Strange, the splatters seemed to only branch out in two directions.

My eyes followed the pattern the trail of blood created. I pursed my lips and crossed my arms.

"Was there any sign of a break in?" Sam asked.

"That's the strange bit, isn't it? The windows were both closed and locked. None of them looked like they'd been moved in months with fall being as cold as it is. The door was latched in several places and the alarm was set. Nothing was out of the ordinary save for Meredith being dead and all," she explained.

"And no signs of struggle?" I finally asked while exchanging an uneasy look with Dean.

He noticed the blood too.

"No, everything was left in pristine condition, except Meredith and the floor," the landlady said.

Dean and I were frowning at the floor. The blood made a pattern, a symbol, and I was trying to remember where I'd seen it before.

"You mind if we take some time to give this place a good thorough search. Just to make sure the police didn't miss anything?" I asked.

"Sure, knock yourselves out," she replied and left.

We waited a few minutes before getting the EMF detector Dean hid in his pocket out for a run. He started scanning the room while Sam bent down next to be to inspect the blood.

"So, a killer walks in and out of an apartment – no weapons, prints, nothin'," Dean remarked while walking the perimeter of the room again.

"Rips a poor girl to shreds, only takes her heart as a souvenir," I continued along with his musing.

We did that a lot, mostly because we thought so much alike that it was creepy… to Sam at least. Dean and I just rolled with it, figuring we just had a similar way of approaching life.

"And then manages to make the blood – spatters and all – morph into some sort of symbol," he finished.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that's not possible," Sam interjected.

"No, I don't even know Knight Elves who can manage to be this precise. They mostly just take the blood and draw what they want with a paint brush," I said.

The shape of the blood was bothering me, so I decided to sketch it out better on the ground. I waved my hand and lines of ice began to creep across the bloody carpet. Dean whistled.

"Dude you have no idea how surreal this looks," he muttered.

I rolled my eyes without breaking my concentration. It didn't take much for me to remain focused on my magic anymore. The power, that had been with me since birth, was so much a part of me now that I barely had to think about using it. When I was done tracing, we gaped. I almost slapped my right hand to my forehead.

I knew the symbol. It was Zoroastrian.

"Well shit," I muttered.

* * *

"Wait, what did you say this was?" Dean asked after choking on a draft of his beer.

Sam had his laptop out sifting through various Zoroastrian information websites. I was drinking whiskey, on my fifth shot, and had one of Professor Moruni's books out on the table with the picture of the creature found in Zoroastrian mythology.

"A daeva, they're shadow demons, like wraiths, and the mortal eye can't see their full corporeal form; just their shadow. Which is why I got this out so you both can take a look," I tapped my figure against the stiff parchment page where the professor carefully inked out the picture of what the shadow demon looked like.

Dean and Sam leaned over to look at the thing with identical frowns on their faces. Both of them made a face at the grotesque thing and backed into their side of the booth after looking at it. I smiled.

"Well, at least we know why it likes to remain invisible," Dean muttered and then took another sip of beer.

Sam closed his laptop and motioned for the book. I slid it over to him and he heaved the thick pages onto the lip of his computer and scanned through the content.

"Says that, you can summon them and control them for a limited time with just the symbol, but you need to get a human heart, liver, and stomach to keep up the control… if you're a mortal. If you're immortal then all you need is the symbol," he cited.

"So, either we're dealing with some witch-," Dean began.

"Sorcerer," I immediately corrected.

"Whatever. Or we're dealing with a knight elf," Dean finished.

"Or worse," I suggested.

They stared at me. I shrugged.

"What?" I asked.

Sam blinked before asking, "What, exactly, is worse then that?"

I leaned forward, slightly entertained by the fact that they would ask. My lips quirked up at the corners as I rested my chin on the heel of my hand.

"Would you like that numerically or alphabetically?"

From the looks on their faces, I could tell that they'd rather not.

"So, anyway," I said while drawing the conversation back to the situation at hand, "do we know whether the previous victim was a daeva target?"

Sam nodded and pushed the book back to me before answering, "There was a first victim named Ben Swardstrom. He was found mutilated in his house last month. I've already asked the precinct for the crime photos, and it looks like the same symbol of blood was found around the body."

I nodded and traced the edges of the tome with my fingers, thinking. Evidently this was a mortal target, but why these specific people? What was the motivation behind controlling Zoroastrian shadow demons? There had to be a motive somewhere, but I wasn't sure where exactly the connection lay.

"We need more than this… we need a motive and a suspect. So far the police can't figure out anything and they're too busy trying to keep their members alive from gang violence to really head off a good investigation on this," I said finally.

Dean agreed, "Yeah, you should have seen the relief on the homicide detective's face when we told him that the Feds were picking this up. Apparently, there's a triple gang spat going on in downtown freaking everyone out."

We both looked at Sam for his input, but he was glancing over my head at something behind me. Dean and I looked gazes before following Sam's line of vision.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam stood up and walked around the table towards whatever he'd seen. I shot another confused look at Dean before the two of us followed Sam to where he was going. Sam stopped at a table where a single girl with short blond hair (pixy-cut) sat nursing what looked to be straight vodka.

"Meg?" Sam asked while Dean and I slowed our approach.

She turned around and shot him the biggest, wide blue eyed smile complete with stark white teeth and all she could give him. It was like my senses were suddenly in freak-out overload. An overall bad feeling (as cheesy as that sounds) overtook me and I fixed the girl with a wary look. Who was this and why did my body suddenly felt like going on the defense?

"Sam! Is that you? Oh my God!" she stood up and latched onto him with a tight hug.

An unpleasant warm feeling started to curdle in my stomach, but I clamped down on that the instant it made itself known. I needed to focus.

Sam, for his part, seemed just as wary as I was.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

I decided that it might be better to intervene then let him flounder up a story. I walked up to them with my arms crossed.

"He's working, on a case, with me," I sent her my "sweetest" smile.

Said smile was rumored (by my cousin, mostly) to curdle milk and make babies cry. She looked over and down (yep! Everyone's taller than me on a usual basis) at me with a puzzled expression on her cute baby face. That little unpleasant feeling welled up again, but I stamped it back down, determined to remain professional.

"A case?" she asked.

I moved the side of my jean jacket to reveal the FBI badge clipped to my belt.

"Special Agent Brianna Davis. Sam, here, is Probationary Agent Winchester. His brother, behind me, is Very Special Agent Dean Winchester," I introduced.

She looked floored, but the way she looked floored seemed fake for some reason. It was like she was using one emotion to hide a different one. Interesting. I glanced up at Sam and noticed that he was watching her too with a smile plastered on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. He locked gazes and I suddenly understood. He was watching her just as closely as I was.

"Oh, well, nice to meet you, I guess," she said in a measured cheerful voice.

"But Meg, what about you, I thought you were going to California?" Sam asked.

She smirked and raised an eyebrow, "Interrogating me, Winchester?" she laughed at the blush her comment induced from Sam and I kept my face carefully neutral, "I came, I saw, I conquered as they say. Moved onto here for a while."

"Oh! When was that?" he asked in a voice that seemed a bit too cheerful.

I let out a frustrated sigh. He was really bad at acting.

"Oh, about a month ago, why?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Just curious. So, you from here, or something?"

She shook her head, "No, Andover, Massachusetts. But gosh, Sam what were the odds of us running into each other again?"

Yeah, I thought, what were the odds of total and complete strangers suddenly finding themselves again in this strange world? I almost smirked at that because the odds of them meeting up again were a lot less likely than the odds of Sam and I actually meeting in real life instead of Dream World. And I knew that, where Sam and I were concerned, our physical meeting probably involved a lot of divine intervention, which meant that we were fated to meet. Either Meg's situation was the same way or something else was going on.

Determined to keep up with my irritated boss persona, I rolled my eyes and slapped Sam on his left shoulder, the one facing me.

"You know what, Probie? I'll let you talk to pixie-girl over here and I'll take Very Special Agent Dean to the bar to interview the bartender," I stepped away from the situation, grabbed Dean by the back of the neck before anyone could really comment, and dragged the shorter brother away from the scene.

At the bar, after the bartender told us about Meredeth's work ethic – a good one – we both watched Sam and Meg's exchange with identical frowns on their faces.

"It could be innocent, maybe one of those one in a million chances?" he remarked.

I pushed out air through my nose and pursed my lips. He could be right, I conceded, but he and I knew that it was just a product of wishful thinking. That one in a million chance already happened… with me. Either Sam was just that lucky or something else was going on.

"I don't know," I finally said, "but I do know that Sam's a big boy and can take care of himself. We'll let him deal with her and focus on the issue at hand."

"Which started right as Meg moved here, apparently," Dean observed.

He sent me a look just as Sam moved away from Meg and back towards us. I understood where he was going with that comment, but I chose not to reply. Sam was approaching anyway and neither of us were certain about anything concerning Meg and didn't want to alarm him – or piss him off. I was still on thin ice where Sam was concerned and I didn't want to tread on an unwanted crack.

* * *

We were out of the bar and walking back to the Impala when Dean finally decided to broach the topic of Meg.

"Who the hell was she?" Winchester the elder asked in a tone that was similar to how my mental voice sounded at the moment.

Sam, for his part, looked incredibly uneasy and I felt… oddly satisfied about that. Something about that Meg character rubbed me the wrong way.

"I don't really know. I mean, we met on the side of the highway after our argument a few months ago and we were, well, strangers. Meeting up with her again feels… weird. I don't know. I only met her once so…" he trailed off, obviously uncertain about how to go about voicing the unease both Dean and I could see plainly on his face.

That was the brilliant thing about Sam I always liked. Sometimes, in every day things, he was amazingly easy to read. It was something we had in common, though I had a harder time completely masking my emotions, which was why I always mustered up different ones to hide how I really felt. My poker-face method was the reason why I could tell Meg was acting contrary to how she really felt. It usually takes one to know one and I had about seventy years of experience.

"You notice the way she reacted when Brianna said you were a Federal Agent?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, "I think there might be something going on here."

"Yeah," I interjected, "the fact that she suddenly appeared out of nowhere while we've been investigating supernatural related deaths is a little alarming."

Dean stopped at the driver's side of the Impala and stared down at the roof of the car with a pensive expression creased on his face. Finally he shook his head.

"Coincidences do happen," he remarked.

"To us?" Sam asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged, "True."

I opened the left backseat door and slid into the car. The other two followed.

"How about this. Sam, since Meg's your maybe-maybe-not friend, you can watch her. Dean and I will run a background check on her while we're at it. Did you get her last name?" I asked.

Sam turned to look at me from the front passengers' seat and nodded, "Yeah, Masters."

"Good, Dean and I'll make some calls, you go on the stake out."

"Sounds like a solid plan if ever I've heard one," Dean said.

With that, we drove off back to the hotel.

* * *

About an hour later Dean and I were sifting through a troubling missing persons file on Meg Masters. According to the police report.

"Well, she didn't lie about where she lived," I said after reading through an interview with the younger sister.

"Yeah, but she obviously lied about why she ran away. I mean look at this, happy family, straight A student, president of her college's art club, this girl was allowed to do a lot of things within reason," Dean noted.

"Mhmm," I said while narrowing in on the lines near the end of the FBI's interview with the sister, "Well, this is interesting, it says here that she was acting strange a few weeks before she disappeared. Memory gaps, neurotic behavior that went unexplained, mysterious absences; something was obviously up."

"Think it might have been a cult thing? She get caught up in the wrong crowd and all?" Dean asked.

I frowned and opened another interview file. Something about this whole thing screamed supernatural. Unfortunately, I couldn't quite pinpoint what that was.

"Well, call Sam and tell him that his lady friend is probably some psycho sorceress. I honestly hope that's all it is," I muttered the last part mostly to myself.

I heard Dean mutter in reply, "I really don't want to know what you think is worse."

I quietly laughed at that while scanning through the interview with the boyfriend of Meg Masters… oh… she apparently had a boyfriend and a girlfriend. My eyebrows raised for a moment before I mentally shrugged it off. She was an artist, I figured, from my past experiences artists tended to be more liberal in one way or another. Strange trend, but a true one.

From what both lovers said, Meg had seemed stressed out about something a few months before her disappearance. Something about a major art project that could make or break her career and it took me a few more clicks to find out what particular line of work she planned on getting into. From what the report said, she was going to specialize in photography, film, costume design, and cosmology. I nodded to myself. In order for her to make it in the film industry, she'd have to be recognized by a head producer. It seemed like the college she was going to had a few lesser known producers visiting. People from the Independent side of film and the closer she came to presentation day, the more stressed out and elusive she became. I finally found something that provided a lead. Meg's girlfriend had found a strange book, some dark thing, that had a bunch of weird spells inside. This was a few days before Meg started acting strange.

Human spell books tended towards sorcery. Humans didn't have the ability to even use sorcery without becoming subjugated to the forces of darkness. If Meg Masters offered herself in hopes of gaining success, then the girl we were currently dealing with was most likely heavily influenced by the very things she sought to control.

I looked up from my screen when Dean came back into the room, shutting the lid on his phone.

"So, I let Sam know that little Miss Masters' has a missing person's case revolving around her and her condition leading up to her disappearance. Sam says that she's left her apartment, so he's going to go check up on her now. Find anything else?" he asked.

I nodded, "Yeah, Meg had a boyfriend and a girlfriend and the girlfriend found a spell book two or three days before Masters started acting strange."

Dean whistled, "Think it might be possession?"

I shrugged, "Maybe, I'm not ruling it out, but I don't think so since she's using ingredients to keep control of the daevas. But, I've been wrong before, so I'm not going to discount anything. The most likely case is that she's not."

"Hmm, yeah," he glanced down at the copies of the police reports on our two vics.

Something seemed to catch his eye because he picked one of them up, gaped at it, and then snatched up the other. I waited for him to say something, sitting back in my chair with my arms crossed. Finally he glanced up and it took me a second to blink back the shock. His face was white, like he'd seen a ghost.

"I just found the connection between our two victims. They're both from Lawrence, Kansas," he said in a would-be-calm voice.

I hoped I looked as confused as I felt. I must have since he seemed to snap out of his horrified daze enough to elaborate.

"Sam and I are from there. Our mom was killed there, by a yellow-eyed demon," he explained.

As understanding dawned, I once again found myself trying to remember why the whole yellow-eyed demon part of the explanation alarmed me so much. Even then, the situation suddenly changed from a regular hunt to something far more sinister.

"Well, damn!" I said.

* * *

Sam practically ran into the hotel room with a wild-eyed look on his face. Dean and I stood up simultaneously as he approached us.

"I have to tell you something!" both boys said together.

I crossed my arms and snorted, "Well, that was a twin moment if ever I saw one."

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded to Sam, "You first."

"Meg's controlling the daevas," Sam said.

"Yeah, Davis and I kind of figured that one out already. What else?" Dean asked.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and it took me a few seconds to realize that he was trying to remember something. I cocked my head to one side, curious. From the first dream we shared together I'd gleaned that the man had excellent memory, but I hadn't seen first hand just how good it was. Dean and I exchanged a glance and from the bright gleam in his eyes I knew that whatever I was about to witness made the older brother proud.

"She said, '_I don't think you should come'_ and waited a minute before adding, '_because the brothers are here, I didn't know they were in town'_. She paused again for a second, listening to whoever was talking to her and then told them that she would be waiting for them to arrive – here. She also added a few lines about Brianna. '_Another thing, sir, the Winchesters weren't alone. Apparently, they're traveling with a supposed federal agent. I can't get a pin on her. No one seems to know who this Agent Brianna Davis is. What should I do about her?'_" Sam then paused from his recall and looked at me, "They don't even know what you really are, but they're going to apparently 'deal with you' the same as Dean and me."

My mind raced as I got over my astonishment concerning Sam's near-perfect (actually, so far it seemed perfect) audible memory and considered the information he gave us. Something was up, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

"She's also controlling the daevas with a black alter," Sam added.

I nodded while continuing to mull things over. Dean chuckled.

"So, Sammy boy has the hots for the bad girls. So, she was talking to someone, see who it was?" he asked.

Sam shook his head, "No, she was talking to this person over a bowl of blood. They were giving her orders, but I can't be sure if whoever that was is the one actually in control of everything."

I hummed in response but continued to mull things over. Something was up, obviously, I still couldn't put my figure it out. We had deaths from people who were born in Lawrence, Kansas, the same town Sam and Dean were from. This Meg person, who Sam had met weeks ago on the side of the road suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the Chicago a month after the two found me and drove north from Texas with me in toe. This person used blood scrying…

I stopped my thoughts there and focused on the scrying. Sorceresses and Sorcerers were known for using blood to scry with, but it didn't necessarily have to be done with a bowl. But, Sam and Dean tended to go off of what they read about in the witchcraft spell books and internet myth. I knew things from a controlled database available for OLIMPUS hunters and, also, Professor Moruni's books. Naturally, I'd trust my resources over the ones on the internet. They'd been around several thousand years longer.

I brought my attention back to the blood scrying. I pushed my botton lip between my teeth.

Meg, if she was a sorceress, could still be new to the finer points of sorcery; i.e. that she didn't have to use a huge warehouse of pretty trinkets to get the job done. But, the thing was, if she got mixed up in a coven, the experienced (most likely containing a Knight Elf or a former witch or wizard) would have told her that eventually, with practice, a pewter goblet wouldn't be needed for scrying. A wooden bowl would have done fine, so long as it got the job done.

Thing was, unless one happened to be familiar with how the supernatural dark side actually worked, no one would know this; especially not two boys from Kansas who learned everything there was to know about the supernatural from a revenge-driven father. I closed my eyes. Sometimes I really hated being over a hundred years old, because experience honed my gut instinct to the point where it was almost infallible. Almost, but quite enough to hone in on a few obvious certainties (obvious to me) and draw conclusions.

"Lawrence, Kansas," Sam said.

I tuned back into the conversation right about the time Dean was telling Sam about the interesting lead he discovered.

"It's a trap," I said bluntly.

They stared at me and I cocked an eyebrow, "What? It is! Think about it for a second! You have two vics with a birth connection. The same birth connection you guys have, no less. Then there are the daevas. Clearly supernatural beings committing supernaturally obvious murders. I've been around the block long enough to know that when we're dealing with something this obvious, something's up. I mean, hell, even the Goblin didn't leave an obvious mark. The only reason why we knew it was supernatural was because of the brain fluid. This is too dirty; especially for a sorceress in cahoots with a demon or a coven leader. Besides, there's no obvious reason for Meg to control a daeva for her own gain, so obviously the motivation has to be something else. And guess who's involved in my primary theory?"

"Okay," Sam interjected, recovering from know-it-all Brianna first, "what do you suggest?"

I smiled one of my bright, happy, smiles that depicted false joy and masked just how much vindictive pleasure I was feeling at that moment. My cousin said that it scared the pants off of him. Well, he used a cruder phrase than that, but I didn't feel like remembering cuss words at that moment. I was too busy cackling maniacally in my head.

"Oh, we should walk right into it."

Dean blinked while Sam just stood there with his mouth hanging open clearly too shocked to quite digest what I'd just said.

"I'm sorry, but did you just say that you wanted us to walk right in to a trap?" Dean asked.

I shrugged, "These guys might know I'm with you, but I doubt that they actually know what I am. My runes," I flashed my arm where I'd marked myself up with a sharpie earlier that day, "do more than mask my appearance. Anyone associated with demonic activity can't sense me at all. It's an elf thing."

Dean seemed to get what I was trying to convey, "The trap's for Sammy and I. We're the bait, you're the wild card."

"Hell no, we're not pitting you against a bunch of daevas just because Meg can't figure you out!" Sam snapped suddenly.

"Not your call, Winchester," I said coolly.

"Sam, this probably has everything to do with Yellow-Eyes. If it does, we need to get rid of the shadow problem we have right now before we can even hope to take care of Meg let alone the demon," Dean said.

Sam's face had that rigid lock around his jaw and forehead. His eyebrows drew in slightly and those green irises flashed. I felt bad, despite my annoyance at his current attitude towards my help. This was a good plan. It was probably a more solid plan then they could have come up with (dash in and hope) and having a proverbial wild card running around doing the unexpected against a bunch of shadow demons that are supposed to be invisible would seriously put Meg off her guard. Sam must have known this. He wasn't an idiot, was actually quite brilliant, and he was familiar enough with my mindset to know that I was at least ten steps ahead of my opponent in any given situation. Again, that came from fifty years of experience hunting as an OLIMPUS agent and then six more years of working with the Dallas PD. And I hadn't always assisted with homicides. Sometimes, I'd needed to help out in with a drug investigation or a kidnapping. It took me years upon years to fine-tune all of my observation and tactician kinks. They didn't have that experience, not yet at any rate, though Dean seemed to be more on board with this than Sam was. Dean, though, was also older and hadn't taken three and a half years off to go to college, as admirable a feat that was.

"Dean, I don't know if I need to remind you, but any… female… who tends to get in the demon's way usually gets killed," his tone could have cut steel.

I let out a sigh. He was talking about Jessica. Dean realized this too, because his entire demeanor slackened and his expression morphed from passive aggressive to guilt.

"Hey bro, look –," Dean began but he saw me shake my head.

I wanted him to. This wasn't a Dean-talk-with-Sam-to-make-it-all-better problem. Sam wouldn't listen to him; I knew this. I remembered from one of our dream-verse conversations how he complained about Dean not being able to understand where he was coming from. This would have escalated into an argument. That, in turn, would waist more time. Anyway, Sam needed reassurance from me and not Dean.

"Sam, let's go outside for a minute," I suggested.

He looked like a lost puppy and reminded me, again, why I sometimes couldn't say "yes" or "no" to him. The look always invoked a feeling at the base of my gut that spread throughout my body, warming me. I associated that, at the time, with sympathy because that was what it felt like it was.

"Fine," he muttered and moved for the door.

Dean shrugged, "Kay, while you're talking I'll just sort through weapons, right?"

Sam and I nodded, both of us distracted by each other, as cheesy as that sounded. He held the door open for me as I stepped out into the cool still-winter air of Chicago. Coming this far north, I sometimes had to remind myself about the climate differences between Chicago and Dallas. As someone whose familial element was fire, I enjoyed the warmth more than anything else. I still appreciated the cold (I couldn't feel it like mortals could), but that didn't mean I wanted to constantly live in it.

We sat, side-by-side, on a bench and allowed a traffic-filled silence to wrap around us. I closed my eyes and leaned against the back of the bench and listened. I heard several arguments, the screams of young babies, gunshots of rampant gangs, the voices of stressed out fathers worried about making ends meet for their families. For that moment, I allowed myself to let the smaller heroes and villains of life to center me and remind me about what I did and how it benefitted them in the end. The more I dealt with the spiritual warfare, the less of an effect it would have on them.

"What are you thinking about?" he finally asked.

I smiled, "People."

His laughter met my ears and I opened my eyes and turned to look at him. A wistful look replaced his stressed one.

"I miss this," he said softly.

I held out my hand, offering it to him, and Sam lifted his much larger one and encased it around mine. He felt cold and I narrowed my eyes in concern. He shook his head, indicating that he was fine.

"I know," I replied softly.

We sat there silently holding hands – a completely innocent gesture of friendly affection.

"I went to bed every night and tried to reach you before falling asleep. I tried everything from meditation to crystals, but I couldn't do it on purpose. Dean is great, he's my brother, but he's got problems of his own and you… you were kind of my impersonal friend I could talk to or just sit with and those dreams, or whatever they were, made things a little easier," he said.

I squeezed his hand gently, letting him know that I was paying attention. Sam was letting everything out in what Dean would identify as a "chick-flick" moment. To be honest, I would too. Sharing my feelings weren't exactly my strong point, but with Sam it was easier. Well, it was easier when he wasn't pissed at me.

"When I first saw you at the crime scene a month ago, I thought you looked familiar. And then, later, when you came and found us, I knew there was something familiar about you so I tried to see if I could jump into your dreams again that night. It didn't work, like usual, but I was frustrated. I wanted to know if it was you. Then, when you accidentally let your guise slip, I felt… hurt. You didn't tell me it was you and I didn't understand why. When Dean suggested we take you with us to keep an eye on you, I agreed, thinking that you could help us find dad and give me answers."

He fixed me with his puppy eyes (as I've officially dubbed them) and continued, "Today, seeing Meg, hearing about the daevas and the possibility of Yellow-Eyes coming to town, the idea that you could get killed in the crossfire finally dawned on me."

I smiled again and ran my thumb over his. Sam hadn't seen me actually fight in a real battle, so I wasn't surprised that he thought I could get killed. Then again, it was probably best that the really big incarnations of evil stayed far, far, away from him and Dean.

"Dean and I," he finished, "we get people killed. Women who get to know me, personally, whether they're my girlfriend or not, end up dead. I don't want that to happen to you."

I let another bout of silence descend between us so I could formulate everything that I wanted to say in one go.

"Sam, I can't say enough just how sorry I am about trying hide from you. I was being selfish. You lead a life I was trying to get away from and I knew that, should we meet and should you find out who I was, then my chance at normalcy would be shattered. In the process of thinking about myself, I hurt you. But, I can promise you this: now that you and Dean know me, you're not going to get rid of me that easily. Daevas? Please! I've fought Fallen Angels and won. Trust me, they're hard to kill. I will be fine. I just need to distract the monsters and Meg while either you or Dean, or both smash the alter. Once that happens, bye, bye Meg," I said in a calm, soothing, voice for his benefit.

The calmer I was, the less of a chance there would be for us to argue. He still looked about ready to try and defend his point, but I beat him to it.

"Sam, I promise, I'll be fine. It's you two I worry about the most. On every hunt, I pray, yes I pray, for both you and Dean's protection. When I go to bed, your safety's on my mind. Even while driving in the Impala I'm still alert, listening and watching for anything sinister that could attack us. Because, Sam, you're not the only one who attracts monsters, I do too, it's just mine tend to be all-powerful overlords of evil. Or assassins, or political bastards seeking my hand, or false gods; take your pick they're around. I'm one hundred and ten years old, Sam, I can take care of myself," that was all the assurance I could really give him without telling him about all of the other factors in my life that led me to hiding in Dallas, Texas.

There were some things that were best left buried in the past where they couldn't come and rear their ugly heads. Hopefully, at least; I was still skeptical about how long I could actually keep the evil that followed me around at bay.

"Side-effect of being an ex-huntress?" he asked.

I felt relieved. He wasn't going to argue with me! I laughed in response.

"You have no idea," I replied.

He chuckled lightly. After a moment, his mirth died down and he closed his eyes. Sam frowned again. When another precious moments passed, he opened his eyes and gave my hand a light squeeze.

"Alright, I'm trusting you, Bri," he finally relented, "Just… don't get killed."

I rolled my eyes, "You're such a killjoy!"

"Bri," he wasn't laughing and I realized that he'd meant every word.

All flames of humor that burned through my countenance died and my shoulders hunched forward. Maybe it was my general obliviousness, but I hadn't realized just how much Sam valued me as a friend – a true friend with no strings attached. I swallowed as the enormity of everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks leading up to that point in time hit me like a load of bricks.

"Sam, I promise, I will not die," I said.

I still didn't think he believed me, but considering that was all he and I had holding us together at that moment, I could take what I got. After this job was finished, though, I knew that we were definitely going to have to talk.

* * *

I scouted the warehouse first before leading Sam and Dean into the building. Meg was on the top floor with her little altar and I wasn't too keen on mimicking Sam's previous maneuver up the elevator shaft. Taking the stairs actually was an option for us due to my amazing rune drawing abilities (nothing really amazing about it). Besides, steel locks were easier to dissolve than iron.

The concrete stairs were precarious what with their crumbling cracks all up the suspended steps. We proceeded with caution and I strengthened wherever I could. Concrete was hard to keep steady, but I managed it.

We didn't see any daevas, so I figured that we at least had some sort of element of surprise. Whether or not that would be enough remained to be seen.

The top floor was just as decadent as the rest of the building. The only addition of it's disintegrating rot were the five daevas floating around the room in their natural grotesque forms. Sam and Dean drew out their guns and I followed suit. It was best to leave the elven-made knives I had hidden on my belt and up my sleeve disguised as various forms of jewelry and trinkets for later. The element of surprise was at least on me if not them.

Meg stood at the altar chanting. A shiver ran up my spine.

I decided that making the first move would work better than letting her talk. If she was chanting a connection to the night demons, then she probably already knew we were there.

"Meg Masters, put the goblet down and put your hands over your head," I ordered.

Sam and Dean were giving me confused looks, but I pointedly refrained from looking at them. Meg stopped chanting and turned around. She was smirking.

"Agent Davis, fancy meeting you here! I didn't realize you were a hunter too!" she said brightly.

The daevas circled and started to close in. I kept my gaze steady and pretended not to notice them.

"It's a bit of a hobby, now, turn over that altar and come with me quietly. You're under arrest for two homicides," I said.

"And what, exactly, are you going to do about the stories? I wasn't seen at either crime scene," she said sweetly.

"You know, you'd be surprised what we already know. Now, toss over the altar!"

She laughed, "I'm afraid I can't do that Agent Davis. I'm waiting for someone."

"Who?" asked Sam.

"You."

Three daevas pounced and before even I could avoid it, we were hit. I didn't black out, per say, but it definitely felt like I was lucid dreaming through the whole ordeal that followed (Meg tying us up). I was bound behind Dean to a pillar that supported the gaping roof above us while Sam was tied to a sturdier pillar. I had to give it to Meg, she knew which of the brothers was the strongest.

For a few minutes I pretended I was unconscious until both Sam and Dean stirred.

Dean came to first.

"Son of a bitch," came his trademark phrase I sometimes teased him about on a more lighthearted hunt than this.

"More like bitch of major bitches, ruler of the bitch race and leader of bitchtopia," I muttered grumpily.

He snorted, "Careful, she might take that as a compliment."

I laughed.

"He's right, you know," came Meg's voice from wherever she was in the front of the room.

I rolled my eyes before catching sight of one of the daevas floating around the room. The one I saw just passed the window. I blinked and the rest of the foggy haze that filled my head after being hit from behind cleared and I noticed a second one hanging out along the roof. My face remained passive. Best to keep in character. I felt at my binds. Rope.

I smirked. A quick burn should definitely get both Dean and I out.

"I take any insult as a compliment," Meg continued.

I didn't pay too much attention. Dean had been about to reply, but Sam groaned and distracted both of us.

"Sam?" Dean called.

"Yeah!" came his groggy reply.

"Your girlfriend's a bitch!"

I chuckled darkly. Yeah bitch didn't even begin to cut it.

"This whole thing was a trap. All of it. Even the victims being from Lawrence," Sam said to Meg.

Well, we knew that, but I knew him well enough to know that he was stalling for time, so I quickly went to work on my bonds. Just enough concentrated heat and the rope would burn just enough to cut me loose. In a few moments, I succeeded.

"The victims didn't actually mean anything. I just chose them to help draw you in. Granted, I wasn't exactly planning on a Federal Agent coming with you, but I'm not overly picky," she said.

Sam scoffed, "You killed those people for nothing."

"Honey, I've killed a lot more for a lot less," Meg replied.

I pondered that for a second while my eyes followed the daevas' flight paths. They weren't in attack mode, but that didn't mean anything. Meg killed more for less huh? By Fed accounts, she'd only been missing for a few months. How many people had she killed? Unless… unless she wasn't, actually, Meg Masters but someone wearing her body? I really hoped that wasn't the case.

I tapped Dean's hands, my signal to him to keep stalling.

"Okay, you trapped us! Good for you! Why don't you kill us already?" he asked.

From my vantage point where Meg hovered over Sam, I could see her lips quirk into a smirk. I rolled my eyes. That bitch was getting on my nerves. I saw another daeva floating in the corner.

"Bit slow on the uptake, Winchester. The trap isn't for you," she said.

"It's for dad," Sam finished with a glare in Meg's direction.

I made a show of shifting into a more comfortable position against the post while I craned my head to the other side of the room to check for more daevas. Nope! None on that side as far as I could see, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I tapped Dean's hands again, signaling that I was ready. Carefully, he severed his restraints.

Sam, from what I could see, had already taken a knife for the ropes.

"You boys are his weakness," Meg explained while the three of us began to execute our plan, "he lets his guard down around you and his emotions cloud his judgment. Having a pretty Federal Agent in the room will only make it worse, so I thank you both for adding her to the equation."

"Yeah, great, great, but can I point out a flaw in your little trap?" I asked.

I could see the daevas tense and I wondered if their little beastly minds figured something out about me. No matter, they couldn't do anything without Meg's say so and Meg didn't know what I was… yet.

She actually walked over to me and crouched down to where she could lean her face in close to mine. I smiled.

"My master's plan is perfect," she said.

I shook my head, "No, no it's not. You put something in this plan that you shouldn't have. Something that no one should ever have if they want a trap to be well executed."

She raised an eyebrow, "And what would that be?"

My smile fell into a self-satisfied smirk, "Me."

I brought my left arm around in a wide arch and whipped my fist across her temple. The momentum of the hit threw Meg into the floor and I stood up just as the daevas barreled to me.

"Sam, Dean, now!"

I held out my right hand and fire burst forth. The daevas didn't make noise, but I imagined that, if they could, they would have been screaming bloody murder. The flames couldn't kill them, I didn't intend to go that far, but I knew that they did hurt.

Meg lunged at me and I intercepted her punch and flipped her off her feet and onto her back. The resulting grunt signified that the impact left her winded. In all honesty, I was practically being gentle. As an elf I was strong enough to break her back if I chose to.

"You went after the wrong person," I said and glanced at the altar.

Sam flipped the altar over and I snuffed out my fire. The daevas dived, but not for me. Meg shrieked as she was dragged across the room and thrown out of one of the open windows. Sam, Dean, and I scrambled after her and peered over the edge. Meg was sprawled on the ground with a pool of blood slowly forming around her broken body. I winced.

"Having made that swan dive before, I can sympathize with how painful it is," I remarked.

Dean snorted, "Yeah, well this has officially turned me off blonds for a month."

Sam laughed, "I'd say."

Dean rolled his eyes and moved towards the stairs with a wave of his hand. Sam and I took that as his silent order for us to clean up while he brought the Impala around. I was about to head for the toppled table when Sam grabbed my arm, gently, and stopped me.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

I looked over at him with a confused from on my face, "Yeah, why?"

He reached out with his free hand and tentatively touched the back of my head. A searing, stinging, pain blossomed up the lower part of my cranium and I drew in a sharp wince.

"I was until that!" I complained.

Sam chuckled, "If you say so."

Then he hugged me.

I stood there, limp in his arms, shocked as I could ever be and also trying to control the blush that threatened to flush across my face. He had never hugged me like this before and while he might have been covered in blood and dirt, his underlying scent met my nostrils with a pleasant odor. I relaxed, closed my eyes, and breathed him in before returning the hug.

"I forgive you," he said.

I pulled him closer and nearly let out a happy giggle.

"So, friends again?" I asked.

"Totally."

Yeah, totally friends and I was perfectly okay with that.

* * *

"Why don't you just leave all of that stuff in the car?" Dean asked as we opened the door to our hotel room.

I rolled my eyes and shouldered my bag that held all of my old elven hunter equipment. The knives, swords, guns and bows and arrows were made to fit in any compact space so that we had better chances of keeping our weapons hidden. It was a new thing after the turn of the century; after most of the royal family was massacred. I frowned at that. Some things never leave you, no matter how hard you try to forget.

"It's better to be safe than sorry," Sam explained while heaving along his own back of weaponry, "I've said this countless times before, Dean."

I was about to make some sort of quip when I saw a figure standing near the window of our hotel room.

I wasn't known for pulling punches where intruders were concerned. Fire spilled from my finger tips just as Dean yelled "hey!" and Sam turned on the lights. I snuffed out my fire just in time and gaped.

"Holy mother of the Son! John Winchester I almost burned your bloody head off your bloody neck!" I yelled.

Oh yes, the man we'd been looking for, the man Sam and Dean had been desperate to find, stood in our hotel room. John Winchester, the most famous hunter among the supernatural community. Hell, even elves admitted that he was good and he was. I shook my head and placed both hands on my hips.

Dean grinned, "Watch it Dad, she'd about to lecture you."

John just smiled at me and crossed his arms, "Hey Davis, long time no see."

"Huh, yeah, and you almost cut your little visit short," I grumbled.

The three of them laughed, though I wasn't entirely sure what they were laughing at. Dean strode into the room and met John halfway into a hug. My mood evaporated and the corners of my lips turned up into a small smile.

John and Dean backed away from each other. Beside me, Sam shifted and I reached over to lightly brush his hand. He responded by grabbing it for a second before letting mine go. I wasn't sure if John Winchester saw that or not, but I know from the look Dean had on his face that he did.

"Hi Sam," greeted Winchester the elder.

Sam swallowed and I finally looked up at him. He looked scared, but was trying really hard not to show it.

"Hey dad," he replied and dropped the bag of weapons on the floor.

They didn't go in for a hug and, discreetly, Dean and I glance at each other. He looked just as exasperated as I felt.

"It was a trap, but we thought it was for us, not for you. I'm sorry," Dean said.

"My fault, actually," I interjected, "I convinced them to walk into it."

John chuckled, "Let me guess, the worst thing to put in a trap is you, right?"

I grinned, "Well, what can I say? I've got tricks up my sleeve."

"Don't worry about it you two, I figured it was. I knew Davis was with you, so I wasn't too worried," he said.

Dean snorted, but Sam looked slightly annoyed. I reached out and placed a warning hand on his arm. He didn't need to get into it with his dad right now. It could wait.

"Were you there?" Dean asked.

John nodded, "I made it in time to see the blond take a swan dive. I take it she's the bad guy?"

"Yep! Controlled some daevas that Bri apparently can see," Dean explained.

"That's my boys."

"If you weren't surprised," I began, "then I take it that this yellow-eyed demon who remains unnamed, has tried to trap you before?"

John nodded, "Unfortunately."

"Let us help," Sam implored.

John shook his head, "No, you and Dean need to stay with Davis and leave the demon to me. Trust me on this, I'm close to killing the thing."

"We'll keep our heads down then," I promised for the both of them.

Sam glared, "Bri -,"

I met his glare with mine, "Sam, if you're father's gotten this far on his own, it's best to just let him finish it alone. We'll only get in the way."

"Sam," John interjected before Sam could form a reply, "It'll be okay, I promise."

The look on Sam's face told me that it wasn't, but he knew enough to understand that his father had left no more room for argument. In any case we were all tired and not exactly up for one at that moment.

"Now, listen Sammy, when we were together last time, we had one hell of a fight. It's good to see you," John said.

And with that, Sam smiled, "You too."

They embraced and Dean and I smiled to each other. That was a good sign. At least, it was until I saw a daeva appear out of nowhere and make a beeline for John and Sam. Dean seemed to see the look on my face because we both leaped at the same time and pulled Sam and John to the ground. Two more daevas came in from behind and attacked before I could do anything. One large clawed hand slashed down my back and I opened my mouth in a silent scream.

I staggered to my feet and hit out at one of the daevas. My skin made contact with its barely-there nose and knocked it away. I looked and saw that one was about to plunge its claws into Sam's stomach.

I didn't think I simply allowed my instincts to take over. The result was a stream of orange-yellow fire erupting from my hand and splash onto the decaying mass that was the shadow demon. It reeled away from Sam and I grabbed his arm and pulled him beside me. I ran forward and kicked out at the one who had its claws digging into the shoulder of John before whirling around and setting the one hovering over Dean on fire. Both men scrambled behind Sam and I.

"Close your eyes and don't open them no matter what you hear!" I commanded.

I didn't wait to make sure they had, I swiped the symbol that kept my elven features hidden and spread out my hands. There was this thing about elemental magic. It had a higher level called "lightcraft" and I had access to all five elements. But, with that being said, fire-light-craft was probably the most desirable one needed at that moment and the one I was most proficient at.

For a moment, fire danced on the tips of my fingers. Then it turned silver-white and expanded, multiplied, and emitted a bright, blinding, glow. It burst forth and flooded the room.

Again, it wouldn't kill the daeva, but I had no doubt that it would repel the stupid things and give us just enough time to escape.

When the light died down, the daevas were gone and I felt slightly dizzy. It had been years since I used lightcraft and I forgot how much it taxed me mentally.

The wound in my back could have also been a factor, but at that time I was too mentally drained to care.

Sam's large hands clamped down on my shoulders to steady me before I did something embarrassing like fall.

"Bri, put your disguise back on! We've gotta get out of here!" Dean said.

I nodded and reached for my back pocket where my sharpie remarkably still was. I was certain that it would have fallen out by now. My vision blurred, but I managed the rune and watched as my glowing skin dimmed to an obviously human peach.

"Come on, let's go," John said and headed out the door.

Dean followed, but Sam slung one of my arms over his shoulders and one of his around my waist. He guided me out of the room.

I didn't hear anything else that happened. Sam simply led me to the Impala and helped me into the back. He got in after a small bit and sat on the car floor beside me with hydrogen peroxide, water, a rag, and some bandages while Dean started the car.

"Bri, you okay?" Sam asked.

I smiled, "Out of practice. What I did was… not easy. Takes years to learn."

He laughed, "Well, you've been slacking off for five years."

"Cheeky bastard," I said and then winced as he dabbed my back with peroxide, "your dad?"

"Gone."

"I'm sorry," I said.

Sam smiled, but it looked strained, "Not your fault. Just sleep."

And I did while Sam finished cleaning my wound so my body could heal itself. I didn't know what exactly went on before we parted ways with John Winchester, but I had a feeling that it hadn't been pretty. I resolved to ask Dean when I got the chance.

_Well, Like it? Hate it? DESPISE IT? Review and tell me what you think!_


End file.
